


Your Son

by LaurenceEvans14



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, High School, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Teen Romance, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-27 23:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenceEvans14/pseuds/LaurenceEvans14
Summary: Abby Coleman just wants to graduate high school with passing grades, there's no need to stick her neck out, the fewer people who noticed her, the better. But when an English assignment forces her to reevaluate her life, she realizes there's far more in life than graduation and therapist offices.





	1. Energy Drinks and Chemistry Kids

Racing down the highway is a lot like watching an old film, the blurred scenes running too fast to follow as the projector starts up. It will stop of course, the bright light fading as it decides what will play inside the theater, but until then, you keep your eyes downcast, unwilling to prey victim to the certain headache studying it will cause. Even so, there’s the urge to glance up to see the muddied images racing past, frowning, my head tilts ever so slightly to see the buildings blending together, cars speeding alongside us and letting out a pale veil of exhaust.

  
Letting out a breath of air I hadn’t known I had been holding, I sighed, I had already practically memorized this route, a daily journey due to being unwilling to simply take the bus or get my own license. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as I anticipate, but the ever-creeping thought of people shoulder to shoulder or the complete control of a metal death trap always stopped me, sharp anxiety stabbing at my chest.

  
Glancing back down at the phone resting on my lap, I gnawed at my lip, the start of a migraine pressing against my forehead, threatening to burst. Lazily my thumb scrolled down my social media feed, every few photos earning a like or a slight push of air out of my nose in amusement. The radio was blasting out of the second-rate stereo, an old scratched up pop music cd Will had found under his seat when he bought the car. The previous owners had said they had the vehicle cleaned, but the music filling up the car said otherwise. Smiling and turning my phone off, I couldn’t help but laugh as the raven-haired boy threw his head back and forth to the beat as if the boyband playing was actually rock. Seeing me rolling my eyes playfully, he started singing along, offkey and never quite saying the right words.  
I wanted to sing along, I really did, but I couldn’t my throat closing and a burn caressing it like I had been drinking boiling water. Smile dying to just a quirk of the lip, eyes downcast to stare at my own reflection in the glass screen of my phone.  
“Mind if we stop at a gas station? I’ve got the rumblies, the rumblies only cheap truck stop doughnuts can settle,” his question brought me back to reality, making me jump slightly, but I laughed at his reference, nodding along.

  
Pulling into the parking lot, Will invited me in, scratching at my arm I declined before he asked if there was anything I wanted, looking at me expectantly. Caving, I gave a crooked smile, “potato chips would be nice,” his grin in response, made some of my anxiety quell. Jumping onto the sidewalk, he ran into the building, doorbell ringing loudly at his entrance.

  
Pulling my phone back into sight, I opened it up, pulling up the most recent conversation. Fingers twitching, I typed in a short message, fingers moving only by muscle memory.

“Hey.”

I didn’t have to wait long before a reply came, Rory’s cheeky personality peeking through the screen.

“Arent you  
supposed to be  
in class”

The quick, unchecked, text made me smile, ignoring her conscious mistakes.

“Not everyone is in  
the same time zone, Rory.  
I have roughly 20 minutes before  
class starts. Shouldn’t  
you be in class?”

There was a moment before a small bubble appeared on screen, shifting and bouncing lightly as a sign she was typing. My nerves started to fray, growing worse by the second after the normal period it took her to reply.

  
“Maybe…”

  
Laughing at her antics, I set my phone away when Will came back out of the shop, jumping into the car and sending the food in his hands flying. The doughnuts and potato chips survived the impact, but the boy’s energy drink wasn’t so lucky. Upon hitting the dashboard, the can split open, tin tearing easily and spraying the sugary liquid in a fan throughout the car. It was cold against my skin, making me give out a screech that was a mix of playful and absolute shock. The raven jumped across the console, landing on my lap and grabbing his drink as it sprayed us, shoving the leak to his mouth, drinking it all down.  
Staring down at Will in shock, sticky residue running down both of us, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, he smiled around the can, more of his drink spilling out the sides where his lips didn’t seal it. Grinning and twisting my body around, reaching into the pocket behind the seat and pulling out a container of wet wipes, hidden in the car for exactly this reason. Will crawled off me, taking a handful of wipes and racing to wipe his drink off the car, there were already so many stains in the thing, I didn’t quite understand his rush but hurried along with him. “Damn, there go my party snacks,” he complained with a smile before explaining. “Some of the chemistry kids talked me into a study group, I don’t think those kids ever sleep,” He smiled, pulling back onto the road.

  
“I’m pretty sure they just powernap through their study halls,” I half joked before paling. “Do you think you could snag me the calculus answers for fifth period?” Will has always been the teachers’ favorite, so much so that he was regularly able to get the answer sheets to anything you could imagine. I’m almost certain that’s the only reason he hasn’t gotten a job yet.

  
My nervous musings were cut short when the car swerved, smashing me into the door, my ungodly shriek was thankfully buried under his laugh, recklessly pulling into the school parking lot and giving me a ringing headache. “What. The. Fuck.” I bit out, breath uneven and heart racing, threatening to send me running.  
“We were going to be late,” the raven-haired boy explained through his chuckles, sending me over the center console, punching him in the shoulder.  
“One day you’re going to kill both of us,” I sighed, looking towards the sky for whatever god out there in a silent prayer. His snort was the only reply, rolling my eyes playfully, I climbed out of the car stepping into the snow. Shivering in the cold, I rubbed at my arm, there would definitely be a bruise there by the time I got home. Hearing Will’s door slap shut, I snagged my bag from the car floor, slinging one of the straps over my shoulder.  
“This weekend my parents are going to visit Molly since she’s graduating this year, so I’m inviting some friends over, you’re welcome to come if you want,” the idea of hanging out with him sounded fun, but the idea of so many people made me feel nauseous, quickly declining yet desperately trying to be polite.  
“Mom is working the night shift today, you could spend the night if you can convince your parents?” I offered hesitantly, even though Will and I have been friends since kindergarten, his parents stopped letting him stay the night after we had hit sixth grade, scared we would hook up or something.  
This, of course, did not stop him from sneaking out.

  
He just smiled knowingly, “I’ll be there sometime before twelve.” When it had first started, I had been worried, but Will has yet to be caught. Both his parents don’t go to work until noon, so he’s already at school by the time they wake up and they’re none the wiser.  
Bell ringing, I gave a small wave as the raven gave a quick “see you third period, Abby!” Stepping inside, I let out a huff of relief at the sudden wave of warmth that heaters had blessed us with. Slipping past the other students, I didn’t bother heading towards my locker, knowing that there was no real point in grabbing anything. The halls were flooded by students, a scowl on my face, it was far too loud and most of the underclassmen were much too tall, towering over me. Grumbling over the unfairness of it all, I slipped into the library, taking a table towards the back, known for its closeness to a plugin. Digging into my bag I pulled out my phone charger, knowing that the seven-year-old phone wouldn’t last without it this period. Pushing the straying strands of pale brown hair to their place, having pulled free of my braid.

  
Accidentally casting a glance at the librarian, Mrs. Todd, as she called role, I gave a sheepish grin. She didn’t particularly like phones being out, but after four consecutive years of study hall with her, she had granted me a bit of leniency. Reopening my messages, I smiled at the message I had missed from Rory, while she was only my stepsister, the two of us had been friends since we were little, her being born only a year after me.

“I hate this class”

“Why did I fail this last year?”

“Save me”

“Abby”

“AAABBBBBBBYYYYY”

Grinning and holding back laughter at her antics, I typed up a quick reply.

“Sorry, I almost was part of a joint suicide with Will.”

  
“Well thats a given.”

“Dont have a clue how that  
boy got a license”

I was in the midst of typing my reply when she suddenly sent another wave of them.

“I hate everyone here”

“Theyre fuckinf idiots I swear”

Noting her typo, I sent her a short apology, unsure of what to say and asking what had happened that made her so frustrated.

  
“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What sort if stupid do you  
have to be to think that  
whats in your pants  
equals gender”

“Theres fucking trans kids  
in this school what the fuck”

“Trans?”

While the two of us were close, Rory was always more knowledgeable of people and culture than I ever could be. I tried to keep up, I really did, but it just became overwhelming, often having to run to Rory for help. It was just easier to ask whenever she brought it up.

“Its someone who was born  
in the wrong body. Like being  
stuck in a horse body. You know  
youre not a horse but everyone  
else is like”

“youre just a dumb fucking horse,  
stupid”

“Oh.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, skin crawling and curiosity prickling underneath. There was a brief moment where a small bubble indicated that Rory was typing, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Frowning, I waited a moment, expecting it to return. Letting loose a sigh, I switched to another app, lazily scrolling through Instagram, knowing there would only be so much new content on my feed. Stumbling upon older posts, frustration and something akin to the beginnings of hopelessness settled in my gut. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, far from it, almost sickening with its daily occurrence.

  
Setting the phone back down at the table, perhaps too hard, feeling myself cringe at the sound, I tried to stop the churning in my stomach, head already starting to ache. Most of the time there was an obvious cause to these bouts of sickness, but the ones that didn’t were so much worse, unexpected and symptoms somehow feeling more potent.

  
Throat threatening to close, I fought the urge to dig my nails into skin, desperate for a distraction. Settling for a shaky breath, I reached out for my phone, clutching it like a lifeline, not bothering to turn it on, just needing to hold onto something. It wasn’t hard to tell I was shaking, fingers trembling and white, forcing myself to breathe, my chest tight. A warbly laugh falling quietly from my lips, I grounded myself.  
It didn’t always work, the breathing, but my therapist suggested it. It was more like a fucked up version of slots, there was a small chance it would turn out well and I’d cash out, but it was more likely to just feel even more like shit after.

  
Fingers still shaking, I fished my earbuds out of my bag, taped together, wires threatening to be torn out, and only working when one bent them a very particular way. Plugging my ears with them, my fingers found themselves shuffling a Spotify playlist, myself not entirely knowing which one. Lazily I buried my face into my arms, focusing on the slow thrum of early 2000’s music that played into my head.

I wasn’t able to suppress the shudder for long though, shivers wracked at my frame, jaw clenching. It was too loud but not loud enough at the same time, something just needed to drown out the white noise before my chest exploded. Mouth thick, my nails scratched at my skins before making a desperate reach for my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

Slouching further in upon myself, I tried to ignore the stares my sudden movement beckoned. Mrs. Todd looked as if she was going to say something, but thankfully she didn’t, she was probably used to it by now, four years does that to you I suppose. Turning my music up even louder, I ignored the thrum of pain my ears throbbed with, fighting the urge to run, settling for speed walking down the hall.

Spotting the bathroom, I picked up the pace, desperate for my destination. Slipping through the doorway, I was relieved to not see any feet sticking out from the stalls, leaving me alone in the cold room. Hiding in the stall furthest away from the door, I slid to the floor, head hitting against the wall and sending shivers down my spine.

Safe within the confines of a bathroom stall, I let go, sobs choking and burning my throat. Fingers curling into my hair, I ignored the sting of hair pulling, freeing itself from my brain as I pulled at it, uncaring if I ripped it out. Biting my tongue in an attempt to choke out my cries, I curled inwards as pressure built in my chest, threatening to burst. Trembling, I untangled my fingers from my hair, unable to move them from their clenched position. A weak cry slipped past my teeth before I threw my fists at the stall wall, needing some distraction from the blood rushing to my head.

Slamming my knuckles into the metal until the pain in my fingers outweighed the agony in my chest, I slowed to a halt, breath shaky, but evening out. Glancing down at the joints, I let loose a hitched sigh, even with my hands numb, I could feel them throbbing, angry and red.

Leaning back against the cold wall, I buried myself in my jacket, my body was still shaking, but I couldn’t go home. Well, I could, but it would end up with being sent disappointed looks and letters from the school for missing class without a medical excuse. Throwing my hood back, I let my eyes flutter closed, just waiting for the bell to end the period.


	2. Succulents Outlive Zombies

              The thud of books dropped onto the desk next to mine pulled me away from my notebook, pen lifting and leaving an unfished doodle behind it. Shuddering at the invisible cold breeze it created, I sent Will a sheepish smile when he plopped down next to me. The raven-haired boy looked around for a moment, trying to spot the teacher, before slipping me the answer sheet I had asked for earlier. While the teachers all liked him, they couldn’t just turn an eye at him obviously helping others cheat. Well, some couldn’t, Mr. Jamison really didn’t seem to care as long as you didn’t annoy him.     

Sliding my paper into my backpack, I closed my notebook, hiding away my green succulent doodles. They were the only things I could draw not horribly. The ring of a bell over the intercom signaled the start of class and the small herd of kids coming in late, all claiming that they weren’t.

Humming, I absent-mindedly listened to role, giving a short confirmation when my name was called. As Mr. Levesque finished, he rose, striding to in front of the class, peppered grey hair bouncing with every step.

“Seniors, we’ve reached the second half of the year, it’s the final stretch until graduation. That leaves us a little under six months to start our senior project,” he smiled, obviously excited, but it only caused my stomach to drop.

“This year, you will all be tasked with writing a ten-page autobiography. In this paper, you will express what you have learned from your experiences. In the next week I’ll be handing out the rubric for the assignment, I may have forgotten to print them out last evening,” he gave a crooked smile, not truly embarrassed.

“Of course, this is not the only project you’re doing this semester, we’ll be doing regular work just like previous years. It’s up to you to get this done on your own time. I’m only offering a few days to work on this in-class. Any questions?”

A carefully calm expression rested on my face, contradicting the pressure of my fingers digging into my notebook, panic hidden under my quickly placed façade. I was horrible at much more than drawing, a lot of things actually, but writing about myself was one of them.

 Fiction? Easy.

Nonfiction? Passible.

About me? A complete and utter train wreck.

Kids were pulling forth their laptops, notifying me to do the same, I must have missed something he had said. The computers definitely weren’t top the line, slow and easily overheating, but the school handed them out to kids for next to nothing each year, so there wasn’t much I could complain about.

Staring at the blank white document, my mouth fell open slightly, brows furrowing. Others were talking, but it was such a jumbled rush of sounds that I couldn’t decipher them. Will suddenly groaned, dropping his head against the desk. “I don’t know what to do,” he bemoaned, I could only nod in agreement.

Brown hair falling over my shoulders, I dug my hands through my hair, pulling at it in frustration. I hated talking about myself, it was awkward, and I never know what to say, everything comes out wrong. I always felt weird during telling it, ashamed no matter what I say. Part of me felt my throat closing up again, chest tightening, but I couldn’t stop thinking.

I was pathetic, I can’t do anything right, and I would have to write all of what I hate about myself down. Just the thought alone made me sick, nauseous and head pounding.

Hands shaky, my fingers rested on the keys, not moving apart from their trembles. Catching sight of words already standing out on Will’s page, my heart stopped, the assignment fully dawning on me.

I couldn’t do it.

Haphazardly grabbing my stuff from my desk, slamming my laptop shut, I forced them into my bag, almost dropping them in doing so. Will looked as if he was going to say something, but it felt like there was water in my ears, bolting towards the door like the coward I was. Mr. Levesque had followed me out, calling after me as I ran down the halls, skin too tight, suffocating me.

Once the voice had stopped, I slowed to a halt, choked breaths pushed out of my frame. Trying to slow down my breathing, I made my way to the staircase leading down to the ground floor. Fingers wrapping around the cold metal bar, clung to it as if I could fall down the stairs at any moment. I just wanted to go home.

The halls were thankfully empty for the most part, kids still stuck in class for another thirty minutes. Heading for the office, I tried to ready myself to talk again, my throat still thick. The upside of being eighteen was now I could check myself out of school without my mother’s permission before they would have to call her, and she would insist on trying to leave work to come pick me up. It’s just easier now.

Stumbling over my words, the conversation with the secretary passed in a blur, absent-mindedly filling out the small amount of paperwork that leaving early entailed. Not looking at her, I gave the women a slight wave when she bid me goodbye. Miss Grace tended to be more laid back than other teachers, knowing not to push why I was leaving, used to it after four years. If I could ever actually formulate a sentence around her, maybe we might have been close than just acquaintances.

              Stepping into the cold air, I sighed, my English stuff was still in my bag, but there was no real point in dropping it off. I’d rather take it home than walk back through the stuffy halls again. The walk home wasn’t too long, an hour at most, and that was only if there was a rush of traffic. The blanket of snow was only half an inch or so, but it easily melted, soaking into my shoes. Digging into my jacket, I instantly regretted it as the frigid metal zipper made contact with my skin.

            The soft chime of my ringtone, an old song from the early 2000s, apparently a favorite of mine as a toddler, came from my phone. Pulling it out from my pocket and seeing my mother’s number on the screen, I hesitated before accepting the call.

            “Hey sweetie, the school called. They said you were heading home, is everything okay?” She instantly said, obvious worry in her tone, causing a sickness to rise into my throat.

            “Yeah, Mom, I just wasn’t feeling well,” I lied, trying to be convincing but knowing that I wasn’t.

            “Well,” she paused, “be careful walking home. I’ll see you tomorrow, I work the graveyard shift after class tonight, so I won’t be home until about seven.” I hummed in response, leading into silence over the line. “I love you,” she said after a moment, instinctively I repeated her words back at her before hanging up. Lowering the phone, I opened up Will’s contact.

 

_“Hey”_

_“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling good, so_

_I’m walking home.”_

_“Are we still going to hang out?”_

            Slipping it back into my pocket, I continued home, the wind whistling around me and cars racing down the street beside me.

            After Dad left, Mom and I had moved into a smaller house on the other side of town. The two roomed house was a fixer-upper which kept the rent low and it was never so bad that the house felt unhomely. The outside coat of blue paint was faded and cracking, in need of a second coat, yet it was something that only made me feel closer to the building.

            Pulling my keys from my bag, I unlocked the door before stepping inside, stress falling off my shoulders when it closed behind me. Throwing my backpack on a dining chair after stepping into the kitchen, I caught sight of a paper on the counter. Picking the note up, I skimmed over the message, catching sight of the twenty-dollar bill that had been hidden below it.

            “ _Abigale make sure to get dinner tonight._

_-Love Mom”_

            Placing the note back down, I sighed, leaving the money where it was. It was only noon, but I knew I wouldn’t be ordering anything. Talking on the phone was a waking nightmare, I could never talk, and even if I ordered online, I would have to talk to the deliverer at the door and fumble with change, and it would be a disaster.

            Searching through the cupboards, a growing hunger starting at each at my stomach, I snagged a bag of barbeque chips with my fingertips, pulling it down. Taking the bag with me to my room, I flopped down on my bed, burrowing into a cocoon of blankets. The green bedding was dark, contrasting the off-white walls, but it fit with the collection of plants and flowers that thrived on my dresser and shelves.

            Scrolling through Instagram, I smiled at the memes that had been posted in my absence. Will and I started up the joke account two years ago, we didn’t think anything would come out of it, but now we sat at over ten thousand followers just from posting shitty memes. Closing the app and sitting up, I started a random YouTube video, a compilation of old vines a background noise as I grabbed the tiny watering can from my bedside table. Faintly listening to it while filling the container up in the bathroom, I quickly made my way back, circling the room and watering the few plants that needed watering more than once a month.

            Placing the can back down in its place, I resumed watching videos, almost quoting them word for word before moving onto another one. Quickly growing bored, I sent a text to Rory, knowing she was regularly active on her phone. Before pressing send, I read a previous message, my brows furrowing as confusion washed over me again.

 

_“Can you explain what ‘trans’ is please?”_

            Groaning in embarrassment, I buried my face in my arms. Logically, I knew that I wasn’t expected to know everything, yet it still made me feel pathetic, like a major screw up. The sound of a knock at the front door dragged me out of my self-deprecation. Grabbing a pillow, I threw it over my face, groaning into it. Half tempted to simply act like I wasn’t home, my plans were foiled when the visitor started to yell. “Ey’ Abby! Get your ass out here! I know you’re here,” Will called out, forcing me to throw my pillow aside. Wandering to the door, I let him in, staring at the bags the boy carried in his hands. “Mom and Dad aren’t home yet, so I figure I should drop them off before they get there,” he grinned sheepishly, answering my obvious confusion.

            Stepping to the side, I watched him drop his stuff on the table, before picking up the note I had left alone. “Do you want me to order pizza?” He asked, pulling out his phone.

            “It’s okay, I’m not really hungry,” I dismissed, grabbing one of his bags and slinging it over my shoulder. He frowned for a moment before shrugging, calling a number, indicating that I had lost the conversation. When Mom wasn’t home, I tended not to eat dinner, unwilling to call in anything and unable to cook anything but mac and cheese and toast. Ever since he had found out about my not particularly healthy eating habits, Will had made it his goal to at least get me to eat something every time he came over. It was sort of cute in a weird “he thinks I’ll starve and die” sort of way.

            Giving a crooked grin, I left him to order whatever pizza he was getting, taking his stuff to my room. Dropping it off on my bed, I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket, indicating I had got a reply. Opening it up, I caught sight of just how long of a text Rory had sent, hearing Will hang up the phone, I decided to read it later, throwing it beside his bag. Crouching on the floor beside my TV, I looked through the small shelf that held up my old Play Station Two’s games.

            Will and I used to go thrift store shopping over the summer after our freshman year, I didn’t usually have money, but Will’s parents supplied more than enough for the both of us in the form of Will’s allowance. In one of our final trips before the school year started up again, we had found the old relic, miraculously having all its cords. In the years following, we had managed to scavenge up an extra controller and a few games for the thing, the pair of us taking turns playing it becoming a tradition whenever he came over. Popping open one of the cases and injected the disk, a sent a grin towards Will as the console started up.

            Tossing him the controller, I hopped onto the edge of the bed, the corded controllers only reached so far, but it was just enough to be able to sit on the bed instead of the floor. The darker skinned boy had always been better at shooters and horror games than me, I tended to prefer story driven and tactical games, they gave me more time to think. So, this game was more for him than me, but it didn’t mean I didn’t like watching it.

            Cheering on Will as he shot down zombies and mutants, the boy so focused on not dying due to not being to save as often as he would like, we almost didn’t hear the knock at the front door. Pausing the game, right in the middle of a chase, he sighed, falling back with a groan before getting up.

            Watching him leave, a devious thought came to mind. Slipping off the bed, I grabbed the other controller, unplugging Will’s and putting it in place. Moving back to my spot on the bed, I was just on time as the boy in question brought in the pizza delivery box, placing it between us, the heat of the food inside it warming up my room.

            Picking up his unknowingly unplugged controller, he seemed confused that the game wasn’t starting before he started to panic, yelling in frustration, believing it to have crashed. Feeling sorry for him, I pulled the cord up, showing it was not, in fact, the game that wasn’t working. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease before he had realized what I had done. Laughing, I didn’t see the pillow he threw at me until it was too late.

            Throwing it back at him in retaliation, our small war was cut short as he reconnected his controller. Watching him finish the section he was on, I grabbed a slice of the half Hawaiian, half cheese pizza. For some ungodly reason, Will believed that fruit belonged on pizza, I could look the other way from his sins as long as he got me plain cheese, so it worked out.

            Munching our way through a good chunk of the pizza, Will finally reached a place where he could save, almost dying too many times to count. His anxieties seemed to melt off his shoulders after the save data was committed to the memory card. Turning off the console, he stood, stretching and making cringe as his joints audibly cracked. “I should head home, Mom and Dad will be home soon,” he explained before walking out. “I’ll see you in a few hours!” He yelled from the other end of the house, the sound easily reaching my room as he slammed the door behind him, making me smile.

            Flopping back on my bed, grabbing my phone, I opened Rory’s unopened text.

 

            _“Okay”_

_“So imagine one day you_

_woke up with a dick”_

_“Then everyone told you_

_That you should just be happy_

_With the thing because_

_You were a boy not a girl”_

_“Im probably not explaining_

_This right”_

_“But you get the idea”_

Sitting up and pulling my blanket over my shoulders like a cape, I frowned. From what she had written, it didn’t seem that bad, but I could see how others could see it that way. Not wanting to bother her again when she didn’t know what else to say, I turned to Google.

 Skimming through the first few articles suggested, I could feel my stomach grow heavier and heavier with every word. Once I finally was able to wrap my head around just what this was, it made sense, far too much sense.

Shutting my phone off, I couldn’t bear to see my reflection looking back at me from the black screen, throwing it to the other side of the bed. I couldn’t be trans, I just couldn’t be. I had lived happily as a girl for eighteen years, surely, I would have known before if I was.

Curling into myself, I clutched my blanket tighter. Salty tears started to run down my face, shaking, I let loose a small hiccup. Silent crying turned into ugly sobs as I choked on mucus, burying my face in my arms, hyperventilating.

Suddenly thrown into a coughing fit, I grabbed my phone before running to the bathroom. Dropping it on the counter, I lost what little I had in my stomach to the toilet, greasy pizza and chips mixed with acid was all I could taste. Soon enough only bile was coming out, spitting it out and grabbing some toilet paper, I wiped my mouth clean before folding it over and blowing nose. Tossing the used napkin in, I watched as what was once in my stomach went down the drain.

Taking a shaky breath, I turned on the faucet, hands falling onto the counter. Pulling my hair back into a ponytail, I dunked my hands under the water, cupping them before throwing the icy water into my face. Shivering, I took a deep breath of air, water dripping down my face. Not opening my eyes, blindly searching for a hand towel, I ran the scratchy fabric over my skin.

Slowly breathing, I looked up at my reflection, skin and eyes red. Not looking away, hands trembling, almost dropping it, I clutched my phone before typing in a short message.

_“I think I’m trans.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the rough draft of a book I plan on writing and was curious if it would be interesting towards my intended audience. So comment with any thoughts or questions you may have.


End file.
